The head librarian had mentioned that Bella was also in charge of the music collection here at the library.
Cash hopped up and slipped out the door, figuring it couldn’t hurt to just take a quick peek while Mrs. Bunting brewed a pot of coffee. He would be in sight of the conference room, so he could join her as soon as she appeared.
He strode over, expecting to find it as it had been back in his day—mostly classical music and some audiobooks on CDs that the head librarian still called books on tape.
It was a pleasant surprise to see a healthy collection of rock, hip hop, country, rhythm and blues, and other popular styles. And that was nothing compared to his astonishment when he saw the big display at the heart of it all.
A tribute to Vermont musicians took up the whole center wall. All the greats were there: Phish, Staind, Noah Kahan, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, Strangefolk, and even Anaïs Mitchell alongside newer groupslike the Milk Angels. This had clearly been put together with a lot of love and a heap of knowledge of the local music scene. It was truly impressive. And the little sign let him know it had been put together by none other than Bella Woods herself.
Not bad, Bella…
He had been admiring it for a few minutes before he noticed that one Vermont artist was conspicuously missing.
Where am I?
It stung a little. But if Bella Wood was in charge of this section of the library, and she knew the little secret about him that he’d only just learned himself, it kind of made sense that she didn’t want to promote his work.
Not that he needed the publicity. He was honestly happier seeing a lot of these smaller bands, some of which he hadn’t even heard of, and made a mental note to check out later.
It was mostly just the ache in his chest again, knowing he hadn’t been where he was supposed to be all this time, that he hadn’t done what he was supposed to do.
“I can’t believe you’re not on there,” a female voice said softly from behind.
“It’s a great tribute,” he said, turning and plastering a friendly smile on his face that would make his actual publicist proud. “I love it.”
The woman was young, probably a college student if he had to guess. And she looked at him like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or run. But he knew from that familiar look that whatever he wanted, she wouldgive it to him, gladly. And he felt soul-tired at the thought of it.
Cash still loved the music. It had taken hold of him at a young age, and wouldn’t let go. The music was the reason he lived this life, mostly on the road, lonely as a monk no matter how many pretty girls screamed at him while he sang or waited for him backstage. But all the other stuff that went along with the music had never held much appeal for him.
“Oh,” this girl said, nodding and daring to come closer. “What do you love most about it?”
“Charles Lawrence,” a familiar voice said. “Walk with me.”
He glanced up to find Bella Wood waiting for him, her carefully blank expression somehow even worse than her fury.
“Have a great day,” Cash told the young girl politely before turning and jogging over to where Bella waited, taking a good look at her for the first time as he did.
She was a tiny little thing, dressed modestly in a long skirt and a pretty sweater. Her long dark hair was down loose, but tucked behind her ears. She looked almost like a stereotype of a young librarian.
She created that local music section,he thought to himself in amazement.
She certainly didn’t seem the type—some of those bands were really niche, with strong punk and metal influences. And there was more to the display than she would have learned from some list online. The way she had everything organized, with the littlebits of trivia about some and the comparable artist for others, made it crystal clear that she knew plenty about each band.
She turned on her heel and took off without waiting to be sure that he was following.
“Where are we going?” he asked, taking large strides to catch up.
“I’m going to grab breakfast at the diner,” she said. “You can join me if you want.”
“Sounds great,” he told her, though he’d already eaten a big breakfast back at the farm.
They passed her tiny little office, and paused in the library’s sunny entryway as she pulled her coat on.
“One sec,” he told her, jogging over to the circulation desk, where Evelyn Proctor was standing and smiling at him. “Mrs. Proctor, can you tell Mrs. Bunting I had to run?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Evelyn told him.
“Thank you,” he said, heading back to where Bella waited.
